Keeper of Directions
L.K. Mitchell
An Imprint of
Musa Publishing
Keeper of Directions
By L.K. Mitchell
Copyright © L.K. Mitchell, 2012
Smashwords Edition
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All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH
43130
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Published by Musa Publishing, January 2012
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-61937-914-5
Published in the United States of America
Editor: Kathy Teel
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
For my children and grandchildren and those I love with Asperger’s Syndrome and to all Asperger’s kids and their families. And for my multi-cultural family of many nations: Finnish, Chinese, Sáami, Tlingit, Irish, Chippewa, Norwegian, German, Aleut, Filipino, Scottish, Dutch, Hawaiian, Jewish, Russian, English, and Swedish.
Table of Contents
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In the Blood Tower, the small man watched as the Ravenmaster snored in her bed. An open book lay across her chest, moving up and down with each rumbling from her nose. Her long gray hair, now free from its bun, lay across her dark shoulders. Outside her room, a stairway led to the Tower. The small man left the bedroom and went out through the foyer and up a set of stairs. At the top of the steps he opened the door and stood in the dim light emanating from a fixture on the outside Tower wall. A large royal blue velvet curtain hung along one wall.
The man lifted a cord from around his neck on which hung a thin pen-like device. With his other hand he pulled the gold cord on the curtain, brushing the fabric aside. Behind the curtain were eight large wrought iron cages, stacked four on top and four on the bottom. He swept a red beam from the pen across the cages. A soft chortle burbled from one of the cages. On each cage hung a wood sign engraved with a name. He slunk from cage to cage until he found the one he wanted. He lifted a limp Raven from the cage floor and pulled gently on its leg examining the ankle bracelet. The Raven’s name was Rose, the Keeper of Directions.
The small man reached into his shirt and removed a mesh bag and a small towel. He carefully tucked the bird’s wings against its body and put the towel over it. The Raven seemed to come to life and squiggled out from the towel, twisting its neck around, the sharp beak gouging through his gloved hand. A drop of blood hit the wood floor, making a sizzling sound.
“Hummpf,” the man said, covering the bird with the towel. The bird moved again, but this time he put pressure on its wing to keep it still.
“Caw!” said the Raven, its voice now muffled by the towel.
“Caw!” trilled another bird from one of the cages. The Ravens ruffled around in their cages. Soon all the Ravens awakened from their false sleep.
“Caw, caw,” the Ravens shrilled in unison. Lightning struck outside. The wind blew through the open window, slamming the shutter against the wall with a loud thwack. The man jumped, swearing under his breath. He quickly pushed the bird into the mesh bag, and slung the bag over his shoulder. His feet appeared to float along the varnished wood floor as he disappeared into the stairway again.
No sign of anyone yet. He smiled to himself. The drops in the Ravenmaster’s tea worked. He was outside and across the lawn before the Ravenmaster even stirred.
The Ravens’ commotion echoed from the Tower windows as the man ran through the wet grass, down the walkway and toward the stone wall. He leaned in and blew a breath of hot air toward the stone and the wall dissolved into ash as if it were made of paper. He stepped through and walked quickly across the grass. Behind him, the stone wall formed back to its original state again. Across the lawn, he flung open the door to an awaiting van and jumped into the passenger seat.
“Let’s go. Hurry!” he said to the driver. With the Raven tucked into the bag on his lap, they drove off down the darkly lit London streets.
* * * *
The Ravenmaster tossed and turned. In her dream, a raven flew toward her. This time it didn’t land on her shoulder as her Ravens often did. The bird flew right at her and right through her; the bird’s face met her face, blending into one. The last thing the Ravenmaster saw was a pair of large green eyes. And the last thing she heard was a loud, “Caw! Caw!” Ravens made a similar sound when a scavenger would try to invade their nest—those familiar sounds, those voices.
“Caw, caw!”
She sat up as if waking to a fire alarm.
“Caw, caw, caw!”
She slid off her bed, grabbed her robe, and ran through her office toward the stairs.
The Ravenmaster, her long hair flowing behind her, ran up the stairs to the Tower. Yellow, green, brown, and black eyes stared out from the cages. A Raven frantically pecked at the latch on its cage. She flung open each cage, and saw that the cage in the corner stood empty. Several of the birds stayed in their cages; others flew to the bookshelves that lined an entire wall. One Raven landed on a large mahogany desk near the windows.
“Oh dear, Rose. It’s Rose,” cried the Ravenmaster. She rushed to the window, but couldn’t see through the rain. She closed the window and picked up the phone on the desk.
“It’s me,” she said into the phone. “Rose is gone! Come quickly. I can’t explain. Just get here now.”
As she hung up the phone, the Raven on the desk tucked its head, ruffled its feathers, and brought its wings forward and transformed into an adolescent boy with dark black hair and brown skin.
“My God,” he said to her. “We yelled for you. Where were you?”
“Tramon, Rose is gone. I don’t know…I…” The Ravenmaster sighed, rubbing her temples. She sat down in the chair next to the desk. “I don’t usually sleep that hard.” She paused. She couldn’t believe it. “Someone has taken Rose.”
A Raven squawked and hopped off the bookshelf onto the floor. The bird lowered its head, feathers ruffled, and its shoulders came forward. A human head appeared, then a crouching body, arms and legs, then a human form, a teenage girl, stood up.
The girl, Gwenlyn, paced around the room. “Oh, poor Rose. What’s happening? Who knows? Someone must know!” she cried.
“Call Sir Heddington,” Tramon said. “He’ll know what to do.”
“I did call him,” the Ravenmaster said. “The Yeoman will be here soon.”
Tramon’s face firmed, and he clenched his fists. “I thought you said we'd be safe, moving from the White Tower to the Blood Tower!”
“Nothing is ever sure, my child. Not even our Directions, especially without Rose.” Oh, dear, my dear Rose.
“What about the Book?” Gwenlyn asked.
“Oh my!” the Ravenmaster said, putting her hand to her chest. She walked over to the shelf and pulled out the Book. “Always in plain sight,” she said. “We learned our lesson after they tried to steal it from the Jewel House.”
Tramon went over to the bookshelf next to the Ravenmaster and touched the Book with the tip of his finger. “But what about our Directions? It won’t work without our Rose.”
The Ravenmaster put the Book against her chest and carried it over to her desk. She set it down gently. “We’ll have to find a successor if we don’t find her soon. Oh dear, it’s not safe here. Take this to the Stonehenge,” she said, handing the Book to Tramon.
Tramon hesitated and then held out his hand.
“I’ll have the Gull People meet you there,” she said. “They can be trusted to take it to Canini, the Wolf colony. They’ll keep it safe for us.”
Tramon held the Book against his chest, crisscrossing his arms in front of it. “Back in a few,” he said. He closed his eyes, tucked his head, shrugged his shoulders, and transformed, into a Raven again, the Book clutched in his talons.
The Ravenmaster opened the window and Tramon flew out, spiraling upward on the breeze. As he flew, the earth shifted with the weight of one raven lifting off its surface.
The Ravenmaster knew that if someone had been able to look into the Book's pages and touch the green letters, they would have felt nothing unless they were the Keeper of Directions, the one endowed with augur, the touch, the ability to read the compass rose and what it told of the future. And she, certainly, wasn't the Keeper. Rose had the augur; she was the compass and now she was missing.
Lance sat on the double-decker bus reading his book. The guide pointed. “And on your right is the Monument to the Great Fire of 1666. It stands two hundred three feet high.”
Vivi nudged his side. “Lance? Hey, Bookfreak monkey?”
Lance looked down at his bird book, The Mind of Raven, and didn’t respond to his sister. Being quiet usually made her stop. Ravens are smarter than my sister. They're clever tricksters. They alert people to predators and throw rocks at people from their nesting trees.
Jana, Lance and Vivi’s mom, turned around in her seat. “Lance, give me the book,” she said, holding out her hand.
Lance turned slightly away from her, but his mom grabbed the book and pulled.
“Thanks,” Jana said. “I’ll put it in my bag. You can read it later, okay?”
Lance loosed his grip as she took the book away. He put his hands on his lap, looked out at the scenery and to no one in particular said, “Did you know that ravens thrived after the Great Fire because they ate the dead people?”
Vivi scrunched up her face. “That’s disgusting, Bookfreak.”
“Don’t call me Bookfreak,” Lance said.
Todd, Lance and Vivi’s dad, turned toward them, giving them his usual father death-stare. His light brown hair, recently thinned, flew up in the breeze. “Vivi, behave.”
“Yeah, behave,” Lance said, not looking at her but outside at the scenery.
“Okay, Bookfreak, excuse me,” she huffed, and then nudged him so their parents couldn’t see.
Lance leaned in toward the bus railing. “Did you know that there are ghosts in the Tower of London? Anne Boleyn, King Henry VIII, and even a bear.”
Jana turned around in her seat. “A bear?”
Lance sighed. He was the only one who ever read anything. But then again, his mom was the artistic type. How did he get born into this family?
“Yes, a bear,” he said. “There’s a story about a sentry who was guarding the Crown Jewels when a bear charged him. The man died a couple of days later from fright.”
“Are there bears in London?” Jana asked, but Lance didn’t think she really expected an answer.
Lance fidgeted with the brochure in his hands. “It’s almost two o’clock,” he said. “Don’t you think we should head over to the Tower now?”
Jana sighed. “Don’t worry. We’re getting off soon.”
As the bus crossed Tower Bridge, Jana raised her camera and snapped a few photos. When the bus came to a stop, the Jensens got off and entered into the Tower of London along with the crowd.
They made their way through and around the gardens, taking pictures, heading to the Blood Tower. When they arrived at the Tower, a closed sign was hanging on a yellow piece of “Do Not Cross” tape strung across the path.
Todd looked down at Lance. “It says closed.”
“Closed?” Lance repeated. “Are you sure it’s the right day?” He tapped his foot. “Are you sure? You’re sure?” He clenched his fist. Then he unclenched it. “What!” he shouted.
Lance started to shake his arm rapidly. His dad put a hand on his shoulder. Lance flung it off.
“Hey, it’s okay, Lance. We’ll think of something,” Todd said.
“You don’t think right,” Lance said. They should’ve known this place would be closed. They should’ve planned another day. Why did they bring me here if it’s closed?
Jana moved in front of Lance. She bent down to look in Lance’s face. “Honey, we will try to work something out. But there’s nothing we can do about it now. Do you have something else you’d like to do today?”
Lance moved past her toward the yellow tape. “I…want…to…see…the…Ravens…”
Nearby, a man clipping a pink rosebush stood and said to them, “They’re closed because one of the Ravens has disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Lance said, glancing around. “Isn’t anyone worried?”
The man held a pair of sharp garden scissors in front of him. “You know your history, son. If the Ravens fly away, the monarchy will fall.” The gardener shut the scissors’ blades, making a slicing sound.
“Yes, the myths,” Todd said. “But my son, Lance, is…an amateur ornithologist and visiting the famous ravens was going to be one of the highlights of his vacation.”
Lance heard the pause in his dad’s voice. Why don’t you just come out and say it, Dad? My son, Lance, is autistic, Asperger’s syndrome; he’s obsessed with ravens. But his dad wouldn't say it. So what if he was fascinated with birds? It wasn’t because he was an Aspie. Couldn't he just like something? Other kids liked things and they weren’t made fun of. He recalled a story his mom often told him about being two years old playing in a playpen in the backyard and how she looked up from her book to see a raven perched on the edge of the playpen. Lance was babbling to the bird and the bird was fluffing its tuft of feathers and making gurgling sounds in its throat. Jana had always said it was as if Lance was talking to the bird.
Lance didn’t remember this at all. His mom also said how frantic his dad was, how he came running from the house and shooed the bird away, but not before the bird had taken Lance’s rattle, the one with a bear face that sounded like chimes when you shook it. Lance remembered the rattle, though. He hadn’t liked the sound of it. Ever since then, birds had followed him around as if they were everywhere.
Of course they’re everywhere. Lance shook his head slightly, his dad’s words slogging through his brain.
“Sorry,” the man said. “Come back in a few days. We should be opened back up again.”
Lance groaned. “A few days? We can’t come back because we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Sorry, chap,” said the gardener. “Maybe you can come back to jolly ole England again next year?”
Jana readjusted her purse on her shoulder. “We could probably do that, Lance. It’s up to your dad, but we could.”
“Come on, quit whining,” said Vivi in a mimicking whiny tone. “Next year we’re going to Hawaii, remember? That’s my dream vacation—a vacation in the sun, not the rain. Rain, rain, rain.”
“Enough,” Todd said, putting his hand on Lance’s shoulder. This time Lance didn’t shake it off.
“We’ll find something else to do,” Todd said. “We can still look around.” The family turned and walked back down the path through a crowd of wandering tourists.
Lance fiddled with the brochure in his hands. He stumbled and Jana grabbed his arm. “Better tuck that in your backpack,” Jana said. “Lance, we can take a photo of you by the Tower.”
Lance just sighed and folded the brochure, sliding it into his backpack.
“Bummer, huh?” Vivi said. “Now, let’s go do something fun, like shopping.”
Lance started to take another step but turned to look, one last time, at the Tower. A feather twirled in the breeze, falling toward the rose bushes below. Abruptly, he turned and stumbled, one foot catching the other, and ran clumsily back to the rosebush where the feather had landed. He picked it up.
“It’s a raven feather.” He flipped it back and forth in the light, noting its burgundy tinge. He looked up at the window above him and saw just that, an open window.
“Lance, get over here,” Todd called to him.
Lance ran back, moving from side to side, dodging tourists.
“What do you have there, son?” Todd asked.
“Oh, just a feather,” Lance said, putting it in his backpack. Lance was well aware that feathers weren’t “just” feathers. He’d studied feathers in his bird books. Feathers were made of a protein called keratin. Feathers were a bird’s integumentary system, the most complex system in all creatures with skeletons, even humans. They protected, insulated, and camouflaged.
Lance turned the feather in his hand, noting the outer and inner veins, the barbs that made up each vein, the barbules extending from the barbs, and the hooklets that tied the barbules and the barbs together to form the feather. One single feather is very complex. Like adults.
Lance sat at the desk in the hotel room, the city lights flickering beyond the window. This was his last night of vacation. Vivi’s voice sang out from the shower. She didn’t seem to mind going on vacation and then traveling back home. She didn’t mind being squished in the airplane bathrooms. She didn’t mind waiting in the airport with all those people.
For Lance, it’d taken all he could muster to leave home and come all this way on the plane. At home there were stacks of books in his bedroom. At home there was his dad’s recliner, a cup of hot cocoa. Home was the safe place. The single thing that motivated him to come to London, though, was seeing the ravens.
He reached into his backpack, pulled out his drawing tablet, and took a pen off the desk. He scribbled, and then shook the pen—out of ink. He pulled the desk drawer open and rummaged around—no pen. No pencil. Lance dug around in his backpack until he found a working pen. Then he remembered the feather in the side zip pocket. With a pair of small scissors from the desk, Lance cut the end off the feather and inserted the inner plastic inkwell from the pen. Now it looked like a feather pen a great scientist would use.
He opened his sketchbook, revealing pages and pages of birds: gulls, ravens, robins, herons and eagles. He set his bird taxonomy book beside his drawing pad and opened it to the Common Raven. With the feather pen, he began to draw the outline of a raven. But instead of black ink rolling onto the paper as it should have, a gold glittery line wiggled where he’d drawn.
“What the heck?” Lance said, lifting the pen from the paper. He lifted the feather pen closer to his face, examining it. The feather seemed normal.
Lance set the pen to paper again and started to draw. The feather pen moved his hand around on its own.
“Jeez,” he said, letting go of the pen. He stared down at it, then picked it up again. This time, he allowed the pen to go where it wanted to go, round and round, across, up and down. His pen drew an ornate circle that shimmered in gold. It’s something nautical. I know this. It’s a…a…I can look it up.
Lance reached down to touch the circle, running his finger along the outer rim. He felt something deep in his fingertip; it grew warm and surged up his arm and into his head. His head spun, and he leaned slightly to the right. And then he got another weird feeling, his feet itched. The image was as clear in his head as if he’d read it in a book: The Blood Tower. And like the many other vivid pictures in his head, this one wasn’t going away.
He had to go back to the Tower.
Lance dressed in his pajama pants, kept his T-shirt on, and sat on one of the two beds, the one closest to the door. He put his hands on the bed and started to rock. He didn’t know why he did that. It just felt good. Inside his head, there were small flashes of light. He took two deep breaths. No ravens, no raven, no ravens, his mind said over and over again. He rocked more to stop the thoughts.
In the bathroom the hairdryer came on. Lance put the notebook inside his backpack. He figured Vivi would be out and ready for bed in a few minutes, so he’d have to sneak out later. He had to see the ravens. He wanted to tell someone that the feather pen and paper made him feel something, a strong feeling, but he didn’t know how to talk about feelings. His mom, Jana, was always trying to talk to him about how he “felt.” To Lance, feelings were for children and girls, not scientists. And even when he did try to talk about how he felt, no one seemed to understand what he was trying to say.
Vivi opened the bathroom door and emerged in her pajamas, combing her hair. “What, no book?” she said.
“No, I don’t feel like reading.”
“Are you sick or something? Just because we didn’t get to see the ravens doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.”
Lance didn’t say anything more. He just rocked. Vivi flopped on the other bed across from him and started to talk about things that he had no interest in: a new boy in the neighborhood, the T-shirt she’d bought for her friend back in Seattle.
He didn’t really have to listen to his sister. She was trying to distract him from having a meltdown, but all he could think of was the ravens. Thoughts like this often kept him up at night. He’d crossed an ocean to see the ravens; in fact, he convinced his family that London was the place to vacation this summer. He tried to imagine what he should do now, turned over the scenarios in his head. It wasn’t long before his eyelids were heavy and he fell into sleep.
Lance awakened and turned to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand: seven-thirty a.m. In the next bed, Vivi, with her sleeping mask on, breathed softly. He dressed quietly and put on his backpack. He opened the door slightly to his parents’ adjoining room. The blinds darkened the room. His parents were still sleeping, but they’d be getting up soon to get ready to go to the airport. He figured it was now or never.
Lance stepped outside of the hotel room into the hall and took the stairs down five floors to the lobby. The desk clerk was watching a small television in the corner, her feet propped up on the counter. He paused. This is really unscientific. I’m going to be in so much trouble. He looked at his watch: nearly eight a.m. He had time; they weren’t leaving until the afternoon. He took a deep breath and walked through the lobby and out the revolving doors.
Outside the hotel, people walked down the sidewalk. Lance fell in with them. He took a few steps and stumbled; he turned in time to see a bicycle bearing down on him. Whack! He yowled as the bicycle hit his leg.
The youth on the bike, who was a head taller than Lance, jumped down. “Hey, watch where you’re going,” he said.
“I am watching,” Lance said. “I was walking right here.”
“No,” the youth said, looking down at Lance. “I mean you should be more careful. You stepped out in front of me.”
“Oh,” Lance said. “I’m in a hurry. I have to go to the Tower of London.” Lance moved away from the youth and headed down the sidewalk.
The youth caught up to him, walking his bicycle. “Hey, an American, are you? Or a Canadian, maybe?”
“I’m an American.”
“I thought so,” the youth said, striding in alongside. “If you were Canadian you’d say ‘eh, eh, eh,’ after every word. So what do you Americans say?”
“I don’t know. I don’t say anything American,” Lance said.
“Well, we here in England say ‘chips’ and you say ‘French fries’ and you’re not even French. We say ‘biscuits’ and you say ‘cookie.’ And we say ‘bugger’ and…and I don’t know what you say for that.”
“We might say ‘bugger off,’” Lance said, looking sideways at him.
“Hey, don’t get cheeky, friend. In two years I’m gonna get one of those Mini Coopers I can race around.”
Lance just nodded. He couldn’t tell if this kid was joking or not. He never knew how was he was supposed to respond to comments like that.
“Hey, it’s early. Rich boy should be eating breakfast by now.”
Lance raised his eyebrows. “How do you know I’m rich?”
“You came out of that hotel there,” he said, pointing back to where they came from. “That’s not somewhere I could afford to stay or my mum neither. Hey, where did you say you were going?”
Lance turned to look at him. “I’m going to the Tower of London.”
The boy smiled at Lance. “The Tower is a ways from here. And I heard,” he lowered his voice, “from my uncle—he works there—that someone stole a Raven from the Tower. Not the wild ones scratching up dried bread but the real ones they keep as ‘special’ birds.”
Lance’s eyes widened. “You know about the bird? That’s why I’m heading to the Tower.”
The youth scratched his chin. “Aren’t you kinda young to be walking around London by yourself?”
“I’m ten.”
The boy paused, looking Lance over. “That’s not what I meant…Well, if they’re going to open back up, they’ll open at nine a.m. Do you know your way there?”
“No, but I think it’s this way.” Lance pointed. “I think we came back to the hotel from down this street.”
“Kid, the Tower is that way,” the boy said, pointing left. “Come with me. My Uncle Harold works there. We’ll grab my bike and I’ll give you a ride over.” The youth held out his hand. “Oh, sorry, my name’s Pete,” he said. “Forgot to introduce myself. How rude.”
At the Tower, Lance climbed off the bike behind Pete. The crowd began to move toward the entrance.
“Looks like they’re starting to open,” Pete said. “But I don’t see my uncle at the ticket stand. He must be off today.”
Lance paused a moment. Now what? He’d come this far. He couldn’t chicken out now.
Pete gently pushed him forward. “Hey kid, you just have to act like one of them tourists and you’ll get in,” he said. “I’ve done it myself.”
Lance fell in behind a large family of squiggling kids. The attendant in the ticket booth counted out, “One, two, three, four, five, six and seven, and two adults.”
“No, six,” said the father.
Lance looked down at his shoes. One of the children next to Lance looked down to see what Lance was looking at. Lance smiled up at him, reached in his pocket and held out a chewy candy. The child took it and started to chew, saying nothing.
“Hey, where’s my Uncle Harold?” Pete yelled above the murmur of the crowd. “Uncle Harold? Uncle Harold?”
The attendant looked up at the direction of Pete’s voice and down again at the large family. “Six? Seven?” the attendant said, as Lance switched sides, huddling next to the smallest child. The child looked up at Lance.
“Six,” the father said. “At least that was the missus’ last count. And I’d think she’d know.” The man turned to his wife. She blushed.
The attendant handed the tickets to the father and Lance walked in with the family. Pete gave him a thumbs up. Inside, Lance moved away from his “family” toward the Blood Tower. The sign on the tape still said closed. Lance stepped over an iron-link chain and walked through the small patch of grass to the Tower window. He leaned in to look through the window but he couldn’t see anything. As he leaned back, a hand grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt. He twisted around as the grip tightened.
“Hey,” Lance said, almost yelling. He turned his head sideways and looked up. It was the gardener he had seen yesterday. The gardener frowned, pushing Lance into a nearby doorway.
“I was just—” Lance stammered.
“The sign says closed, lad.”
“But, I was just—”
“Enough,” said the gardener. His hand firmly pressed Lance through the doorway and into a darkened room. A sliver of morning sunlight streamed in through a window. He released his grip on Lance’s sweatshirt and said, “Well, what is it, kid?”
Displays of brochures and racks with stuffed raven puppets, raven T-shirts, raven hats, and raven books filled the room.
“I just came to talk to the Yeoman Ravenmaster,” Lance said. “You know, the man who takes care of the Ravens.”
The gardener smiled and a woman’s thick voice from the shadows said, “Man, huh.” An older woman stepped into the morning light. “I’m the Ravenmaster, head of the Yeoman Ravenmasters.” The elderly woman’s gray hair was swept up in a bun. Her hair contrasted against her dark brown skin. She wore a pinstriped gray suit dress. “Bring him to my office,” she said, her black eyes dancing.
Lance sat on a chair in front of her desk and put his hands in his sweatshirt pocket, leaning protectively against his backpack. He looked down at his lap, not making eye contact. Behind him, the gardener stood in the corner of the room.
The Ravenmaster looked him over. “Who are you, son?” she asked. “Are your parents with you?”
Lance wasn’t sure what he should say. He figured they’d think he was crazy. “No, they’re sleeping back at the hotel. I came by myself.”
“And your name is?” the Ravenmaster inquired.
Lance raised his head but didn’t look her in the eye; he focused on the small brass clock on the wall. “Lance. My name is Lance Jensen. From…America. Seattle. I’m an American, not Canadian.”
“Lance…” she said slowly, as if she just eaten a piece of sweet chocolate. “Lance, you know you can’t snoop around with all these new security regulations. Our guards are well trained.” She paused and put her hand to her chin. “Give me your hotel number and I’ll call someone for you. Let them know where you are.”
Lance shook his head rapidly. “No, no, don’t do that. I came to see the Ravens. I came here yesterday, but you were closed.”
“Well, we’re still closed,” she said. “You can come back in a week and we’ll be open again…I hope,” she added under her breath.
“I can’t. We’re leaving today. We have to fly home. And I have something to show—”
The Ravenmaster reached for her desk phone. “Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
Lance sighed. This was his last opportunity to see the Ravens he’d crossed the Atlantic for. He didn’t know what else to do. Adults had all the power; they could decide if he saw the Ravens or not. Lance stood up to leave, then turned back to the Ravenmaster. He had to convince her he wasn’t just some ordinary kid, even some ordinary scientist.
He blurted out rapidly, “I drew a picture of them. I know a lot about birds, about ravens. Ravens are from a family of birds called Corvids and they live to be about forty years old in captivity. A family of ravens can eat about forty thousand insects and pests in one year. They’re found in many different world myths. They—”
The Ravenmaster held up her hand. “Lance,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “what do you have to show me?”
Lance removed his backpack and took out his sketchbook, opened it, and set it on her desk. He pointed to a drawing.
“This is a Raven I drew. I’ve drawn ravens before, but this one…this one has human eyes. I drew this, but it’s kinda like I didn’t draw it.” He looked up from the drawing to the Ravenmaster. He saw her nod, but he wasn’t sure if that meant he should continue. Maybe it meant that she understood.
Lance turned to the next page, to a map. “This one says something about a rose.” Lance waited for her to speak, but there was a long pause.
The gardener moved closer. He looked down at the drawing and said, “You’re quite the artist.”
Her hand on the map, the Ravenmaster traced the illustration. “This is a map of Directions. See the compass rose in the corner.”
A compass rose; that was the word he was searching his brain for in order to name it. He remembered how his hand went around and formed the star-like pattern with all its intricate lines shooting off into thirty-two directions.
The Ravenmaster touched the round object. “This is called a compass rose. It’s usually printed on a nautical chart. That’s where they’ve been hidden throughout history. But our compass rose is our tool for our Directions, the direction that knowledge should take in the future, part of our philosophy. It controls our destiny.”
Lance crinkled his eyebrows. Are these people serious? Are they joking? He couldn’t tell. Lance fidgeted in the chair, taking one foot and rubbing it on top of the other, trying to scratch the bottom of his right foot.
The Ravenmaster stood and nodded to the gardener. He left the room.
“You drew this?” she asked Lance.
“Yes. Well, no,” Lance said. “Well, I did and I didn’t.” He wasn’t used to explaining the unexplainable. Typically, he wrote down the facts he learned in his notebooks. He made observations and drawings.
The Ravenmaster slunk her shoulders down. “Which is it?" she sighed.
“No, but I found a raven feather outside yesterday. The feather drew this with my help.”
The Ravenmaster rose from her desk. “Come here. Come with me.”
Lance hesitated. “Am I in trouble? I don’t want to be in trouble. At school they say I’m a daydreamer and I—”
He wasn’t a daydreamer, he was a thinker; there was a difference. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell them he was an Aspie. Normal people didn’t understand.
The Ravenmaster turned. “No, you’re not in trouble, Lance, and I don’t think you’re ‘just’ a daydreamer. I want to show you something. I think you’ll enjoy this.”
Lance followed the Ravenmaster up the stairway to another door, which she opened using a code. “I hate these things,” she said, as the door clinked open. “Times have sure changed; I used to use a big old key.”
Lance found himself inside a large room. On the wall to the left, stood eight large cages made from ornate wrought iron. The cages stood four feet high; four cages were stacked on the bottom, four stacked on the top. A navy blue velvet curtain hung on one side of the cages.
Lance held his breath, then gulped. “These are them? The Ravens?” Just then he noticed the open doors and empty cages. “Where are they?” he asked.
The Ravenmaster nodded. The birds seemed to appear from out of the bookshelves. A Raven was perched on the ladder leading up to the highest shelf. Another Raven tottered on the highest shelf cocking its head; another sat next to a large volume of Shakespeare plays. Two others stood along the shelves while another hopped along the floor. And one Raven sat balanced on the head of an old antique carousel horse. At once, all the Ravens’ eyes looked at him. He didn’t like being looked at.
He pointed his finger and counted. “One, two, three, four, five, and six.”
“There were eight Ravens,” the Ravenmaster interrupted. “We have seven now. We normally have eight, but a Raven was stolen. Her name is Rose.”
Lance raised one eyebrow. “Oh, Rose, like the rose on my map, the compass rose?”
“We don’t know for sure,” said a voice from behind them. Lance turned to see that the gardener was no longer dressed in a uniform, but in a tweed jacket and slacks. He held out his hand. “My name is Sir Heddington and I’m not the gardener. Not really. I’m a Deputy Ravenmaster and it’s our job to keep the Ravens safe in the Tower.”
Lance shrugged. “Safe from what?”
Heddington’s long legs strode toward a large desk in front of the windows. His hair was white and his skin was pasty, almost ghostlike.
“Safe from what’s happened, I’m afraid. Safe from being taken, killed, whatever.”
“Safe from those who would want to harm them,” said the Ravenmaster.
She set the sketchbook down on the desk and opened to the page displaying the map and compass rose. Lance noticed the page was no longer showing the bright gold as when he first drew it. It was as if time had already faded it. And he had a sense that something was happening at that very moment that he couldn’t stop.
Heddington and Lance both leaned over inspecting the page. Heddington glanced up at Lance, but spoke to the Ravenmaster. “He’s a child, Martha; it’s only a child’s drawing. This isn’t much to go on is it? Where does it say anything about Rose?”
Lance tapped the map. “Right here,” he said. The map and the objects rearranged themselves. Rose’s name appeared again, but in another place. “It was right here,” he said pointing to the middle. “And now it is over here,” he said, pointing to the right hand corner. “And the pictures have changed. This little airplane wasn’t here before.”
“How did you get this map?” Heddington asked.
Lance gestured with his head toward the Ravenmaster. “Like I told her, I drew it with this.” He reached into his sweatshirt pocket and took out the feather he’d fashioned into a pen. “I used this. I’ve done this lots of times, made a pen from a feather. I find these all the time in the woods near my house.”
“That’s real nice, isn’t it,” said Heddington, raising his eyebrows at the Ravenmaster.
Lance sighed. “Really, this pen drew. I didn’t draw it.”
“Wait,” the Ravenmaster said. “Don’t make any judgments until you see this one.” She turned the page to the Raven sketch.
Heddington bent his head closer. “It’s Rose. It sure looks like Rose, anyway. And you drew this?” he asked, turning his head to look at Lance.
Lance turned the pages. “I did. I draw all the time. See, I draw a lot of birds.”
The Ravenmaster and the Deputy Ravenmaster flipped through his sketchbook, then looked at each another.
“I think he can help us,” the Ravenmaster said. “He does know a lot about ravens.”
The Ravenmaster walked over to the bookshelves. She put her arm out and waved her hand.
“Lance,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Gwenlyn and Tramontane…Tramon.” The Raven atop the antique horse and the one on the ladder flew toward them. One landed on the corner of the desk, the other, on top of Lance’s sketchbook.
Lance didn’t know what to do, if he should move at all. He had an irresistible urge to touch their sleek feathers. Their large eyes mesmerized him. When he looked closely at the feathers he could see a shade of deep blue. What beautiful birds. Lance reached to touch the bird sitting on his sketchbook.
“Don’t touch me,” said the Raven in a squawky girl’s voice.
Lance jumped back as the Raven fluffed its feathers, crunched its neck into its shoulders and shrugged. It straightened and suddenly a teenage girl dangled her legs over the desk, her pale bare feet sticking out beneath her crinkled skirt. She pulled her long braid from in front of a white blouse and slung it behind her. Her hair was nearly the same shade of brown as Lance’s. She looked him over with large amber eyes.
She smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but you can’t touch me while I shift.”
On the edge of the desk, the other bird ruffed its feathers, tucked its head into its shoulders and emerged as a young man with dark skin. Green eyes stared at him. The youth shook his arms out as if they were still wings.
“I’m Tramon,” he said, hopping off the desk. Tramon stood about a foot taller than Lance and seemed about Vivi’s age.
The two teens, Tramon and Gwenlyn, stood facing one another, nodded their heads to each other, and then pressed their foreheads together. They made a strange soft sound, “Krukk, Krukk.”
Social situations confused Lance. Was this one of those times he was expected to shake hands? His dad was always shaking hands. Lance hated the custom but his dad had explained that that’s what people expect you to do when you greet them. Lance hesitantly extended his hand to Tramon.
“Sorry, I don’t shake hands,” Tramon said. “It’s a strange human custom.”
“Human?”
“Yes,” Tramon said. “If men had wings and bore black feathers, few of them would be clever enough to be Ravens.”
“Oh,” Lance said, shrugging.
“I’m Tramontane the Third and this is Gwenlyn.”
Gwenlyn smoothed her skirt, walking toward Lance. She held her hand out to him, and he shook it lightly.
It felt like a human hand. “My name’s Lance,” he said.
“Like Lancelot in King Arthur’s court?” Gwenlyn asked.
“No, like in Lance after my grandfather, great grandfather, and great-great grandfather. There are a lot of Lances in my family. But I don’t know if the first one was named after Lancelot or not.”
Gwenlyn frowned. “How is he going to help us, Ravenmaster?”
The Ravenmaster picked up the feather from the desk, and turned it toward the light, showing its burgundy tinge. “It seems that someone has chosen him to help. It must have been Rose herself.” She ran her fingers along the smooth feather. “It’s Rose’s feather. I’m sure of it.”
The Ravenmaster handed Gwenlyn the feather. She sniffed it. “It is Rose’s,” she said, handing it back to the Ravenmaster.
The Ravenmaster handed the feather back to Lance. “Maybe you should keep this.”
Gwenlyn walked over to the window and stared out, saying nothing. Then she turned and sat down in a chair behind the desk, leaned over, put her head in her hands, and began to cry softly.
* * * *
An official government car pulled up in front of the hotel. Lance opened the door and stepped out. Todd and Jana Jensen waited with their suitcases stacked on the sidewalk for the airport shuttle. Vivi stood nearby, her dark blonde hair flailing in the breeze, earbuds in her ears, mouthing words to a song. He wanted to run and hug them and tell them of his grand adventure, but he figured he might be in trouble. As he stepped up to them, his mom hugged him, and then pushed him back to look at him.
Todd shook his head. “Lance, why would you go and do something like this? We’ve been worried sick about you. Then we get a call from officials at the Tower. My God, Lance.”
Vivi removed one earbud. “You’re making us very, very late, Bookfreak.”
A government driver got out. He nodded to Todd. “Mr. Jensen, Mrs. Jensen. I was told to inform you that Lance has been quite helpful.”
“Helpful? Weren’t we told that he sneaked into the Ravens’ quarters?”
“Well, yes and no. But that doesn’t matter. No harm done, sir,” the driver said.
Jana nodded her head. “I think it does matter. I’m going to have to have a talk with him.”
Inside the airport shuttle, Lance leaned against the window. London had seemed like a normal vacation until yesterday and then…normal? He was an Aspie. He’d never been a normal kid and others saw him that way, too. They passed buildings, signs, and shops, as if everything in the world was moving and he was just waiting for something to happen. Somehow, he knew the normal world was about to change.
Plastic stars glowed on Lance’s bedroom ceiling. Birds flew, and reptiles crept along the walls. On his dresser sat a model of the original starship Enterprise. That’s what scientists did; they built on acquired knowledge, so he’d kept everything. He didn’t like throwing things away, especially if it had to do with birds. Bird taxonomy posters hung on the wall. Birds flew on the ceiling. At night, when everyone in the house fell asleep easily, Lance was usually still trying to go to sleep. Staring at the flying pterosaur skeleton over his bed helped his mind shut down.
Tonight, he tried not to focus on his dad’s snores echoing down the hall. His parents had gone to bed early, exhausted from jetlag. Vivi was in the room next to his; he could hear her murmuring to a friend on her phone.
At least he was home. Tomorrow morning he could expect oatmeal and hot chocolate at seven-thirty. He’d shower and pick out his clothes, the ones he liked to wear. He would draw in his sketchbook. He would play computer games. He would go outside and make observations. But how could that be fun anymore? After what he’d seen at the Tower, how Ravens could morph into people, facts were no longer hard facts. Lance squinted his eyes tight but every time he tried to close them, he saw a human leg sticking out of a raven’s body.
Finally, Lance’s brain shut down and he fell into sleep. He dreamed of water running: drip, drip. The drip, drip turned into toc-toc-toc, and he awoke suddenly. He listened for a moment: toc-toc-toc. The sound was still there. It was coming from outside the window. Lance flopped off his bed, went to the window and slid it open, sticking his head out in the drizzling rain. The streetlight illuminated a raven perched outside on a branch.
Toc-toc-toc. He leaned further out the window. “Hey, bird…ttttt. Hey, bird.”
The bird turned its head and looked directly at him; the eyes flashed like polished agates. He’d seen those same eyes before. He stepped back as the Raven flew into his bedroom and landed on the bed. It ruffled its feathers, bent its head, shrugged its wings and shifted into Gwenlyn.
Lance’s eyes widened. He hesitated to move, as if the spell could be broken even by breathing. Finally, he sighed.
“I know,” Gwenlyn said. “Humans are amazed at our transformation.” She smiled at Lance, putting him at ease.
“You’re not human?” Lance asked.
“Well, of course I am. I’m the same, but different. Come here.” She motioned. “We have to do Shwmae.”
Lance repeated the strange word slowly. “Shoo-my.”
Gwenlyn bowed her head slightly and leaned in toward Lance, pressing her forehead against his. She made a soft sound, “Krukk, Krukk.” She flopped down on Lance’s bed again. “My parents were shape-shifters too,” she said. “They both lived at the Tower. I was born there.”
“So, were you born a bird or a person? Hatched or…or you know?” Lance asked.
Gwenlyn laughed. “I’m a Raven. I think like a Raven, but I think like a human too. I don’t know. I guess I’m just me. And you? You were hatched?” she asked Lance.
“Well, I wasn’t hatched. I…my mom and dad…well…” he started to say.
Gwenlyn lay back. “Silly boy. I wasn’t asking for the details. I’m trying to make a point.”
Lance looked down at his feet, unable to make eye contact. “Oh,” he said. He was always making mistakes, getting people’s intentions wrong, unable to read their faces and see if they were kidding or not.
Gwenlyn sat back up began to preen her hair. “Lance, I’m kidding. We’re tricksters.”
“Oh,” Lance said. “Why are you here?”
“Well, Lance, we need your help. I need your help. Rose is my best friend. I don’t want to think of her being dissected somewhere.”
“Dissected?” Lance said. “Who’d do that to her?”
“Anyone. They want to study us. Our kind has been around as long as humans—in plain sight, really. The Order of Ravenmasters protects us.”
Lance sat on the floor. “But, how can I help? I’m a kid, obviously.”
Gwenlyn got up walked over to the telescope near his window. “Do you look at the stars with this?” she asked.
“Yes, sometimes.”
“Do you every spy on the neighbors?”
“No, no,” Lance said flatly.
“Well, if I had one of these I’d spy too.”
“I don’t spy.”
Gwenlyn turned from the window. “You’ve met Tramon, right? Well, Tramon, he says you’re only a kid. But you’re smart for a human, I can sense it.”
Lance picked up one of his books on the floor and opened it. “Well, I know a lot because I read a lot. And I—” He stopped in mid sentence.
“Good then,” Gwenlyn said. “We need you to spy on your father.”
Lance jumped up. “My father?” he asked. “You want me to spy on my dad? As in 007?”
“Well, more like watch him.” Gwenlyn walked away from the window toward Lance and gently shoved him onto the bed. “Sit, Sir Lance. I have something to tell you.”
Lance sat down on his bed, waiting. He glanced around, suddenly aware of his three pair of dirty socks on the floor, the half-full glass of orange juice fermenting on his dresser. Vivi was always telling him that he had to clean his room if he had friends over. But Lance didn’t really have any friends. Only the kid next door came over one in a while. He looked at the floor again, making sure there was no dirty underwear tossed anywhere.
Gwenlyn sat beside him. “Do you think it’s an accident you came to the Tower?”
Lance grabbed his pillow and clutched it in front of him. She was getting too close. “It was my idea. I have the brochure that my dad brought…”
Gwenlyn looked quizzically as if waiting for him to put two and two together.
“I have the brochures that my dad brought home with him, a stack of brochures. Well, three or four of them.”
Gwenlyn took a deep breath, then said, “Lance, your dad owns one of the biggest software computer companies in Seattle, right? And his biggest competition—or so Mr. Heddington says—is a company called HeavenPlate Software. HeavenPlate is, well…” Gwenlyn shook her head. “Maybe you don’t need to know about all that right now. By the way, that’s a weird name. HeavenPlate?”
Lance cleared his throat and started to rattle off his facts. “HeavenPlate is connected to the Chinese compass. It’s a flat thing, like a plate that the Chinese set a magnetic spoon on and then used it as a compass.”
His blurting out facts frustrated most people, or so his mom and dad tried to tell him, but it was something he couldn’t seem to stop doing.
Gwenlyn continued. “Anyway, our people found a link between your father’s company and HeavenPlate, but still we’re not sure what it is. Maybe HeavenPlate just wants to buy your dad’s company. What do you call it, Lodestone?”
Lance paused. Something was coming into his mind, zipping from one neuron to another. “Yes,” Lance said, “LodeStone Software.” Lance jerked his head back then said, “LodeStone is magnetite ore. It’s magnetic. My dad always said he named the company that because he wanted the company to attract clients.”
“Well, we have to know everything your dad knows about HeavenPlate.”
Lance shook his head. “Do you think my dad’s company or HeavenPlate are connected to what happened to Rose?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re pretty sure about HeavenPlate, but we’re not so sure about your dad’s company and how it fits. But that’s where you come in. You’re the scientist kid, right? Always interested in facts and data. Gather it and then let us analyze it. It’s simple.”
“But this business stuff is my dad’s. How can I—”
“Just listen, Lance. We want you to keep tabs on your father. You know, watch him and report to us. That’s what we Ravens do; we watch things in order to learn.”
“But I’m not a—” Lance started to say when Gwenlyn interrupted.
“Lance, we think HeavenPlate is involved with Rose’s bird-napping. Rose pecked a man when she was taken. The blood was kom—” Gwenlyn cut her words off, then said, “Oh, just a London pickpocket. That’s all we could get out of him…Somehow, he slipped away.”
“This does sound like James Bond. I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do know, Lance,” Gwenlyn said. “You know that before your visit to London, you thought about the world in a certain way and now it doesn’t make sense, but you want it to. Help us and I’ll show you secrets you never imagined. We’ve put our trust in you. We’ve revealed who we really are. Doesn’t that mean something?”
Lance put the pillow in front of his face then said in a muffled voice, “Well, I’m just a k—”
Gwenlyn took his pillow and tossed it off the bed. “A kid? In our world, children are wise and we have use of their wisdoms. Not like your world, eh? Not like how your sister treats you or your parents, either.”
Lance considered this. He knew a lot of Aspies. He went to a group for kids like him once a week. It was kind of like a youth group for geeks. Lance flopped off his bed and stood up. He went over to the dresser where the Starship Enterprise sat on its stand. He remembered when he was four his dad helped him put the model together. His dad had had to help him. The starship was slightly crooked.
“No, I guess not,” he said looking down. “But Dad might get suspicious, me staring at him all the time.”
“You have the augur, or so the Ravenmaster says, so you have to do it.” Gwenlyn shrugged. “You can do this, Bookfreak,” she said, laughing at his name.
“How did you know that name? I don’t want to be called that, please,” he said. “Only my sister can get away with it. She’s always called me that.” Lance tolerated it, but only because it was better than what he’d been called at school over the years: Google, brainiac, geek, autie, and even worse: ass-burger.
“Sorry, I heard your sister call you that,” Gwenlyn said, giving Lance a huge smile. What did that smile mean? Was she sorry, really sorry? Or happy? Maybe she was teasing again and she wasn’t sorry. He decided to ignore it.
“Well,” said Gwenlyn hopping off the bed. “Off to Huginrook.” She went to the window and climbed onto the ledge. For a moment, she sat dangling her legs. “Thanks for your help, little professor. We all thank you,” she said, and then leaped off the ledge and turned into a Raven.
Lance waved back half-heartedly. Having normal social interactions was like the netherworld, the world beneath his own boyness, one he figured he’d never understand.
Gwenlyn flew to the branch just outside his window and in the streetlight the light reflected off her blue feathers. She opened her mouth and made a familiar gurgling croak. Lance poked his head out of the window and waved, as the bird flew away.
“What are you doing?” Vivi said from behind, startling him.
Lance lifted his head, bonking it on the window frame. “Ow,” he said, rubbing his head.
Vivi strode into his room. “I thought I heard you talking. I always think I’m gonna find you doing some nasty boy thing in here so I knocked. I always knock, but you never hear me.”
He frowned. “You never knock.”
Vivi stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed. “What are you up to? Smoking out the window?” she asked, going over to the window to look out.
“No. Just watching birds. There was a raven in the tree outside the window.”
“Ravens, huh? You know that’s weird. When I was sleeping on the jet, on the way back from London, I dreamed of ravens. I hardly ever remember my dreams; but this one…I dreamed you and I were playing on an island somewhere, and two ravens were cawing at us from the trees. And you know the weird thing was—we could understand them. I don’t remember if I heard words. I just knew what they said.” Vivi stopped talking abruptly as if waiting for Lance to interpret the dream, then said, “Weird, huh?”
“What did they say?”
They were going to go to Myrrdin Island to his family’s cabin next weekend, so that part of his sister’s dream could be accurate. Lance didn’t mind the cabin. It meant there were woods. He loved the woods because when he walked into the trees, the sounds of the city went away. There were no buses, no cars, no input from the outside. It was often quiet except for the birds. How would Gwenlyn find him there?